Friendly Fire
by BoomerCat
Summary: Jeff struggles to understand a perceived betrayal.
1. Chapter 1

**Friendly Fire**

"I don't see any way around it, Dad. Without Gordon, we're simply going to have to bring John down."

Jeff Tracy tried to fight down his ire. Every time any of his sons brought up the subject, he felt the betrayal again like a knife in his heart. The past four weeks had been as bad a time as any that the Tracy family had gone through. To think that they had successfully fought off the Hood and others of his ilk only to be brought down by one of their own was devastating, yet here they were. Contemplating the possibility that they might very well have to shut down raised the bile in Jeff's throat.

Glaring at his eldest son, Jeff shook his head. "Son, you know as well as I do that that is a stopgap measure. What we need is to go get Gordon. Kidnap him if necessary."

Scott suddenly found the top of Jeff's desk fascinating. They had had this conversation before, and Jeff could see that his son was no more willing to take that drastic step now than he had been two weeks ago when Jeff had first proposed it.

"Dad…." Scott started slowly, shaking his head.

"Don't say it. Just don't say it. This has gone on far enough, and I intend to put an end to it. I understand you feel you have mixed loyalties here, but we've come to the point where I have to ask you to decide. Now, I intend to fly to Kansas in Thunderbird One. It can be with you, or without you. Your choice."

Jeff knew it was dirty pool to throw his son's Thunderbird in his face, and he could see the pain of it in Scott's eyes. "There's got to be a better way."

"No. You've said it yourself, this organization is on the verge of falling apart. Now, we've all worked too hard to stand by and let that happen. Surely you see that, son?"

Scott ran his hand through his hair, clearly torn. Virgil who had been sitting quietly at the piano spoke up. "What if we had someone try to talk to him? Stu Kopecki, maybe. Or Lady Penelope?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, I thought of that already. Stu's tried twice, and been intercepted each time."

"Well, what about Aunt Tina?"

Jeff and Scott both just stared at the younger man. Virgil ducked his head in embarrassment. "I guess not."

Apparently Virgil's idea had triggered something in Scott, because he slowly nodded. "I'll tell you what, Dad. Let me try something, and if it doesn't work, we'll fly up tomorrow."

Jeff cocked his head and considered asking his son what he intended, but Scott was already up and headed for the bedroom wing of the house. Jeff watched him leave, then turned back to the paperwork on his desk, trying to find a way to maximize his diminished workforce.


	2. Answers

_A/N: Unbelievable! I can't believe I forgot to do the disclaimer thingie (I don't own them, dammit!) And even worse, I forgot to thank my ever faithful beta, Sam, without whom this story would suck. Thanks Sam, for reducing the suckage!_

The following hours passed slowly. The lounge was deathly quiet and Jeff knew that it was his own fault. Where his sons had always gathered in the lounge in the past, to read, play games, listen to music, they now avoided it like the plague. Jeff sighed. He couldn't blame them. He had been so angry over the last few weeks that he had managed to lash out at just about everyone. Even his longtime friend Kyrano seemed to walk on eggs in his presence.

He looked up as he heard the voice of his youngest in the hallway. "Just hang on a minute…" 

Alan bounced into the room, excitement on his face, holding a portable phone. "Dad! It's Gordy!"

Jeff took a deep breath to settle his sudden shock at the news. He took the proffered phone, and looked at his fourth born on the tiny screen. "Son, how are you?"

"I'm okay, Dad. How are things there?"

"They're about how you'd expect. When are you coming home?"

"God, Dad, I have no idea. Grandma's on a real tear."

"Well, things must have improved if she's letting you talk to me."

Gordon looked over his shoulder as if to ensure he was alone. "Actually, Dad, she doesn't know. Wyatt Esterhaus showed up and gave me this phone. If Grandma finds out she'll have a fit."

Jeff nodded, understanding. Wyatt had been Scott's best friend throughout school. "I'm surprised she let you see him. She's been keeping Stu Kopecki at bay."

"She doesn't know he came." Gordon grinned. "He climbed up the oak tree and came in through Scott's bedroom window. I was really surprised to see him. Believe me, I thought his tree-climbing days were over. Long over."

Jeff nodded, then got down to business. "Do you know what this is all about? I've tried talking to her, but she has just stonewalled me from the first."

Gordon's grin turned wry. "Yes, sir. I know, but I don't think you're going to like it."

"Son, I am way beyond not liking it. When your brother came home with that box…"

"What box?"

"She didn't tell you? She handed Alan a box as he was leaving and told him that it was for me, and he was not to open it." Jeff pushed down a thread of anger then continued. "When I opened it, I found your watch, your cell phone, your laptop, even your edible transmitter. I called immediately, but she said that you weren't available, and that you wouldn't be available until some changes were made."

"Wow. I didn't know that. I just know that I went to lie down after the trip, and when I woke up, all that stuff was gone."

"Son, I've talked to her almost daily, and I have yet to discover what kind of changes she wants. Every time I ask, she just says I'll figure it out."

Gordon scrubbed his face with his hands. "Ah, Dad, I'm sorry. She's kind of got me over a barrel here. For the first couple of weeks, she pretty much made me stay in bed. She said I'd heal faster if I rested. I was okay with that for a while, but it gets pretty boring. I told her I wanted to go home, and she pulled the little old granny thing on me. Made me promise to stay until she said I could go."

"What are the changes she wants?"

"Um, well, I think she's been reading Uncle Tom's Cabin."

Jeff blinked, then jumped when Scott said in his ear. "Uncle Tom's Cabin? What are you talking about, Gordon?"

Gordon grinned. "Hey, Scott! Long time no see! Thanks for getting Wyatt to bring me this phone."

Jeff realized he had been joined by Scott and Virgil in addition to Alan, who sat quietly listening from the couch. Frowning for a moment, he pushed a few buttons on his desk and another on the phone, and suddenly, Gordon's face peered down from his picture on the wall. "Hey, Virg."

"Yeah, yeah, what's this about Uncle Tom's Cabin?"

"Oh, well, Grandma's kind of decided that we're all poor mistreated slaves and Dad is Simon Legree."

Jeff shifted in his seat, more than a little shocked. "What?"

"She keeps throwing all these statistics at me. She says that we are all working too hard and if we don't stop, we'll be burned out within a couple more years."

Scott and Virgil glanced at each other in consternation. Jeff shook his head. "That's ridiculous."

"What really set her off was when you asked me to work on those reports just before we left. She said that no decent employer would ask his people to continue working when they're injured. I tried to tell her it was only because I was bored with lying around, but she wouldn't hear it. So now, I'm all healed, but I'm still bored. You'd think she'd see the correlation."

"Son…" Jeff paused, frowning, "Did I push you too quickly?"

Gordon shook his head firmly. "No, sir, not at all. I'm not the delicate little butterfly Grandma thinks I am. I was getting bored, and you let me help with something easy. That's all there was to it. I've been trying to convince Grandma of that, but you know how she gets sometime."

"Gordon, what kind of changes does she want?" Virgil asked.

"Well, she says that most people in high stress jobs like ours work four days on, three days off, but she would be happy if we just had weekends off."

"We take weekends off." Scott was indignant.

"No we don't." Alan shook his head. "We don't do repair and maintenance on weekends, but we still are working."

Jeff reflected that it was true. Weekends were reserved for training and paperwork. Compared to the physical labor of maintaining the base, the Thunderbirds and all of the related equipment, weekends seemed casual in comparison.

"If we take weekends off, we'll never keep up with the workload." Virgil said quietly.

"Yeah, I tried that argument too. Didn't do any good. She says if we can't keep up, then there is too much work, and something will have to give. She says she doesn't intend for it to be me."

"What makes you so special?" Alan said, with a touch of resentment.

"Oh, you're gonna love this one. Aside from the obvious fact that I was injured, she says you and John have a built in relief valve in Thunderbird Five. When you're up there, you can relax because there's only so much maintenance you can do. She says Scott is as much a workaholic as Dad, and she doesn't think he'll see the issue clearly. Although, she was saying the other night that she wondered what Scott would have done if his wingman refused to stand down when it was time for leave."

"I'd kick his butt off the base, but there's a big difference between an Air Force base with several thousand personnel and Tracy Island with less than a dozen." Scott said.

"What about me?" Virgil asked curiously.

"Watch your back, brother mine, or you'll find yourself stuck in Kansas too."

"Well, you certainly are not stuck. I'll send Scott in Thunderbird One tomorrow to get you."

Coloring, Gordon shook his head. "I can't Dad. I promised Grandma I wouldn't leave until she said I could."

"Son, that promise was extracted under duress."

"I can't go back on my word. Not with Grandma."

Jeff shook his head. "Son, your continued absence has put all of your brothers under tremendous stress. You know as well as anyone that this job is barely manageable with the five of you. You've been gone almost a full month now, and we are starting to creak at the seams."

Looking guilty, Gordon nodded slowly. "To tell the truth, Dad, I think that is exactly what Grandma has been waiting for. She's thinking that time will achieve her goal."

"The only goal she's achieved is putting all of our lives at risk. The longer you're gone, the harder we have to work to take up the slack. The harder we work, the more tired we get. And you damn well know tired men make mistakes." Scott said harshly.

"What do you want me to do, Scott? Go back on my word? Forget it, it's not going to happen." Gordon replied with some heat.

Jeff had raised his hands to forestall the argument, when John's picture began to flash. A glance at his desk chronometer reminded Jeff it was time for one of John's regular check-ins. Pressing a button, he said, "Go ahead, John."

Seeing his brothers gathered about their father's desk, John cocked an eyebrow. "Are we having a meeting?"

Jeff manipulated a control so that Gordon and John were conferenced. "Hey, Johnny."

John smiled. "Gordon. How're the ribs?"

"They're okay. Mind's going, though. Grandma has me reading Shakespeare."

"Oh my God, you might actually get a little culture."

"Not if I can help it."

"All right, boys, let's get back to our problem here." Jeff growled. "Son, your grandmother is holding Gordon hostage until I somehow magically lessen the workload around here. Now, I know how much this upcoming Galeano event means to you, but…"

"No, Dad. Don't even say it. John's worked too hard and too long to get ready for this." Scott said with firm determination.

"Son, I know how you feel, I feel the same, but…"

"Dad, I can cancel my observation of the Galeano event. If it's between my hobby and International Rescue, I'll just cancel, okay?" John was pale, and there was no doubt in the room that the offer had cost him a lot.

There were sounds of dismay throughout the room. Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. "John, I know how much those observations mean to you, but I can't see any way we can continue without you here."

No one seemed able to meet the blond astronomer's eye. He had been planning his observations for the last three years, building his own gamma radiation detector. With the event coming up, he had even insisted on staying on Thunderbird Five for three months without a break.

As he had explained it to his family, magnetars, neutron stars with super strong magnetic fields, had only been identified as a separate star type little over a quarter of a century earlier. When 12 years ago Spanish astronomer, Ricardo Galeano, had discovered a binary star system including a magnetar along with a more common white dwarf, the astrophysics community had been galvanized with excitement. And when a team from California's Lick Observatory had proven five years ago that the white dwarf was on a death spiral course to collision with the magnetar, astronomers around the world had hyperventilated in their joy. The collision was expected to release a major burst of gamma radiation, an event so rare and unpredictable that it was hoped that close, accurate observation would advance man's understanding of the origins of the universe.

At the time, John was still a student at Harvard, but he had been as gripped by the opportunity as everyone else. Everyone else in the astrophysics community, that is. His brothers had listened to his excited plans to build a gamma ray detector with bemusement. A sentiment seemingly shared by most of the civilized world. But as always, the brothers closed ranks to support their own.

It was Alan who shook his head fiercely saying, "No. No, that's just not right. There has to be a better way."

Gordon nodded in worried agreement. "Um, I'll try explaining it to Grandma. Scott, you come on up and get me."

Scott stood as if to head out immediately. It was Virgil who stopped Scott with a hand on his arm, saying quietly, "He gave his word, Scott."

John, who was looking on, asked in puzzlement. "What do you mean, Virg?"

"I told Grandma I'd stay here with her until she said I could go." Gordon hung his head. "But I didn't think she'd keep me here this long. Johnny, I would never have agreed if I'd thought it might mean you couldn't do your star crash thingie."

"Gordon, you can't go back on your word. Not to Grandma." John said firmly.

"But what about your gamma rays?"

John smiled wryly. "The nice thing about space, kiddo, is there is always another magnetar or pulsar or quasar to be found. Don't worry about it."

"No, John! That's just not fair! Gordy, tell Grandma John's going to miss his star crash if she doesn't let you come home!" Alan cried out.

"She won't back down. You know she won't. She'll just say it's up to Dad."

"This is impossible." Jeff blurted in exasperation. "Boys, your grandmother is right. You are working too hard. I know that. But at the moment, I can't see any way around it. The machines must be maintenanced. You boys must train. There are only so many hours in a day. Bringing in outside help at this juncture would put our entire operation at risk. I need ideas, and I need them now."

The room went quiet as each of the Tracys tried to think of a way out of their predicament. Shaking his head, Virgil stood up and headed for the hallway. "We need Brains on this."

Alan watched his brother leave then said tentatively, "Well, what if we only worked maintenance on equipment we actually use? You know, just work on them after each rescue."

Scott shook his head frowning. "No. That won't work. Some of the heavy equipment only gets used once or twice a year. I wouldn't trust something that's sat in a corner for six months."

"Okay, then, how about this?" Gordon piped up. "What if we take the equipment we use less and put it on a sixty day schedule? Only work on things like the Mole and Excavator on a monthly basis? If we did that, we could free up Fridays for training, maybe."

"And I could probably work out a rotating schedule for days off." John added.

"Rotating? So like, I'd have Mondays, and Gordon would have Tuesdays?" Alan asked, disappointment plain in his voice.

"Actually, that might work." Scott said thoughtfully. "We'd only have three on duty, but with a day off to look forward too, it might not be so bad."

Jeff sat back in his chair. He listened to his sons hash out a plan, and couldn't help his misgivings. The more he turned his mind to the problem, the more aware he became of the legitimacy of his mother's concerns. When he was young, his mother had been adamant that he would get off the farm. She railed at the morning-to-dusk, seven-days-a-week lifestyle, and had wanted better for her only child, telling him constant work would lead to an early grave.

His wife Lucille had curbed his tendency to overwork by her mere existence. Knowing she was waiting for him at home was a tremendous incentive to leave base when his duty shift was over. It was only with the grief of her passing that he found his solace in work. While the boys were growing up, his mother had an iron control on his work habits, simply refusing to let him ignore his parental duties in favor of work.

It was only in the last several years once he had moved himself lock stock and barrel to Tracy Island that he had been able to totally immerse himself in his work. His passion for International Rescue had flourished in the privacy of his own utopia. It was that same passion that locked his five sons into their current pattern of working 12- hour days to keep up with all of the demands of the job.

The sound of approaching voices drew Jeff's attention. Virgil and Brains entered the room deep in discussion. "That sounds pretty good, actually." Virgil said glancing up at his brothers. "Brains has a plan, guys."

"Let's hear it." Jeff gave all of his attention to the young engineer.

Seeing all of the attention focused on him, Brains nervously pulled off his glasses and fiddled cleaning the lens. "Uh, yes, Mr. Tracy. Over the last several months, I've, uh, been toying with some advanced robotics."

"Robotics? Ah, geez, not Braman again?" Gordon complained.

"Uh, no, Gordon. Braman was my uh, foray into artificial intelligence. This is s-s-strictly robotics. I believe, with help from uh, Virgil and John, and uh, also Alan, I could design and build several robots that would relieve a significant p-p-portion of the workload in uh, maintaining the Thunderbirds and the ancillary equipment."

"Like what work, Brains?" Alan asked.

"For instance, almost every piece of equipment we use utilizes uh, batteries in one capacity or another. In large part, the batteries are uniform, interchangeable from one p-p-piece of equipment to the next. This uniformity will make it possible to design a single robot to charge, replace and maintain all of the batteries for every piece of equipment. I can uh, refine the design to a point that the battery compartments on every vehicle and piece of equipment conforms to a single standard."

John was nodding his head. "You know, I've thought about that in the past… that we could do a better job of designing on the computers… make them more interchangeable. Use a single motherboard design… It'd sure cut down on the maintenance."

"Yeah, and we could fabricate stuff a lot quicker that way. We wouldn't have to change the set up for each different piece." Alan smiled, the excitement beginning to grow.

"Assembly line technology." Jeff said, bemused.

"Well, not exactly uh, Mr. Tracy, but I think that now that we have most of the equipment we want, we can change our focus to streamlining the uh, operation."

Slowly Jeff nodded his head. "Boys, I think we have the beginnings of a workable plan here. Gordon, pack your bags. I'll be flying up in the morning to negotiate your release."

On screen, Gordon froze momentarily, some unknown emotion flickering across his face. He stared steadily at Scott while replying. "Okay, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow."

Jeff frowned at his eldest, who was standing stiffly, looking off into space. "What?"

Scott flicked a glance at his father. "Uh, yeah, Dad. Um… maybe it would be better if I went instead of you."

Jeff shook his head. "No, son, we can't afford to have you away."

Scott raised a wry eyebrow. "Just a couple of hours ago you wanted me to go."

"Yes, I said that, but you know as well as I do that we can't really spare you under the circumstances. And your grandmother is going to take some convincing."

"Yeah, that's why Scott should go." Alan blurted out.

Jeff frowned at his youngest son. A quick glance at the rest of his boys and even Brains showed the truth in their eyes. They may not have agreed with Alan's blatant way of saying it, but they were in agreement with the heart of the statement. With a touch of irony he said, "May I remind you boys I'm considered a pretty fair negotiator in some circles?"

Scott sighed, "Dad, for my money, you're the best in the world, except where Grandma's concerned. When you two butt heads, neither of you even try to control your tempers. You go up there bent on having your own way, and we'll either land up orphans or minus a grandmother."

Jeff looked around. "The rest of you agree with that assessment?"

The six young men solemnly stared at Jeff, then Gordon grinned cheekily, "Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, I'm just going to have to muddle through. Now, let's firm up those plans. If I'm going to take your grandmother on, I want all my ducks in a row."

Scott stared at Jeff as if to divine his level of determination. Jeff stared coolly back, and after a moment, Scott nodded, and with that the stand off was over, and everyone relaxed, and settled down to work out details of their plan.


	3. Hostage Negotiations

It was actually the middle of the night, Tracy Island time, that Jeff boarded his private jet and headed for America and a showdown with his mother. Despite the jet's hypersonic speed, it was still a long flight, and Jeff was determined to arrive early enough in the day to reasonably argue for a same day return.

He carried a briefcase with him stuffed with plans for reducing the workload for himself and his sons. A lot of it was contingent on the building of a series of new robotic devices. Brains anticipated having the designs completed within a week, and the actual machines up and running within three months. If everything went according to plan, not only would his sons get actual days off, but a lot of the more strenuous jobs would be either eliminated entirely, or drastically reduced.

Jeff found he was actually thankful for Ruth's interference. Once all of the labor saving plans were in place, International Rescue would be working a lot more like his original dream. His sons had never complained about the workload, but the smiles that had appeared as each new idea was brought up showed him how great the strain of the job actually was.

The long hours of flying gave him plenty of time to marshal his thoughts for the best way to go about approaching his mom, including an hour long pep talk over the radio with Scott. By the time he landed at the private airstrip near the Tracy family farm, he was eager to get on with it. Despite his enthusiasm, he took the time to re-fuel the jet, in hopes of a quick turnaround.

With the jet prepped and ready, he entered the nearby hangar, and got in the old sedan kept there strictly for trips between the airstrip and house. He did the ten minute drive in more like six minutes, and parked in front of the old farmhouse. As he got out of the car, Gordon appeared at the top of the porch steps. "Dad! How was the flight?"

"Boring and long." Jeff frowned. Seeing his son in real life was very different than over the videophone. "You're thin. Are you sure you're all right?"

Gordon shrugged. "For a while there, I just couldn't face food. But Grandma's made sure that I'm making up for lost time." He patted his belly, then cocked his head to one side. "She knows you're coming."

"She does?"

"Yeah. She asked me at dinner how my day went, so I told her. I kind of gave her a head's up on the plans, too."

"And what did she say?"

"Nothing, actually. I'm not sure what she's thinking."

The two men shared a worried frown. "Well, might as well get this over with." Jeff said with a sigh.

Father and son climbed the porch stairs and entered the house. Jeff breathed in a myriad of half forgotten scents. Although he lived half a world away, in a lush sub-tropical paradise, this old farmhouse still felt like home. Without thinking, he headed to the kitchen, knowing instinctively that that was where he would find his mother.

Pushing through the swinging door, he found a sight he had seen a thousand times before; his mother seated at the big farm table shelling peas. He reflected that many of the most important decisions of his life were decided at this same table. Ruth looked up from her work, and smiled a welcome. "Well, I see you've arrived. Get yourself some coffee and have a seat. We'll have lunch in just a bit."

"Thanks, Mom." Jeff moved to the counter where the inevitable pot of fresh ground coffee awaited. "Can I pour you some? Gordon, what about you?"

"Yes, thank you, son." Ruth replied, then seeing the wistful look on her grandson's face, addressed him. "And, yes, you can have a cup or two of coffee."

Gordon grinned his delight. "See, Dad, I really am better if Grandma's going to let me have grown up drinks."

Ruth narrowed her eyes, although she couldn't disguise the twinkle. "Keep it up and no cookies for you!"

Gordon just grinned, accepting the mug his father gave him. Jeff placed a second mug by his mother's hand and sat down. "I understand Gordon's given you an idea of our plans."

"He's mentioned them, yes."

"Well, what do you think?"

Ruth paused in her work, then looked searchingly into her son's face. "You do understand why I did this, don't you?"

Staring into those kind compassionate eyes, Jeff was almost undone. He steeled himself, not wanting to show weakness in front of his son. After a moment, he nodded. "Yes, Mom, I know why. You could have picked a better time, though. We were on the verge of pulling John away from his Galeano event."

"Well, it was you who chose the time. You're the one who had that boy working from his sick bed." Ruth responded tartly.

"Grandma, we've been all over that…" Gordon started.

"No, son, your grandmother is right. I should never have let you work on that damn report. I apologize, I just wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't, but in the end it was a good thing." Ruth remarked.

"Well, yes, but you've always taught me the ends don't justify the means, Mom, and I am just sorry that it came to this."

"I'm sorry too, sweetheart." Ruth reached over and patted her son's hand.

"Okay, so is the contrition fest over? I swear, neither of you guys ever listen to me." Gordon grumped. "I'm not a little kid anymore. I don't need to be coddled. I don't want to be fussed over. I was bored. If I hadn't worked on that report, I would have done something else, probably a lot less constructive. Now, Grandma, I agreed to stay up here because you felt it was important to make your point. Fine, you've made it. Now, can I just go home and get back to work?"

Both Jeff and Ruth looked up, surprised at the outburst. Gordon tended to be low-key and easy going, and it was rare for him to put things so baldly. The two elder Tracys glanced at each other with a glimmer of mischief, and Jeff said, "Well, I don't know, son. I was bent on bringing you home today, but now that I see you, I wonder if maybe a few more weeks rest might not be in order."

"What?" Gordon stared, drop-jawed.

"Can't say but that I agree with your father, baby. You're never cranky when you feel well. Maybe you should go lie down for a while."

Gordon sat stunned looking from one face to the other. Jeff remarked sagely, "It's probably all that coffee, Mom. You let him have it too soon."

"That's true, he never did handle caffeine all that well. Remember the time when he had a sip and couldn't sleep that night?"

"Grandma, that was when I was six years old, and it was Christmas Eve. That one sip of coffee had nothing to do with me staying up. I was trying to catch a reindeer." Gordon said with a crooked smile, finally catching on.

"All I remember is waking up in the middle of the night, and finding you in the front yard in 20 degree weather, in nothing but your pajamas, digging a hole in your grandma's flower bed."

"Well, the ground was frozen everywhere else." Gordon said with dignity. "I would have caught that reindeer too, if you hadn't stopped me."

"As I told you then, Santa Claus has more sense than to let his animals trample my camellias."

"Well, if Scott had just let me put that bear trap up on the roof like I wanted, I would never have had to be out in the middle of the night."

Jeff's eyes widened. This was one story he had never heard before. Apparently neither had Ruth, because she asked in a tone of amazement, "Where on earth did you find a bear trap?"

Gordon smiled in remembrance. "Where did I always find that kind of stuff? Jimmy Caudill had it in his shed. Jimmy Caudill had lots of neat stuff."

Jeff shook his head. "And Scott found you with it?"

"Well, kind of. See, I had this piece of rope tied around my waist, and the bear trap tied to the other end. I figured I needed to have both hands free to climb up on the roof. I got up into the attic, and I climbed out through the window, and I was hanging from the rain gutter, kind of inching my way along to get to that overhang over the porch. But the rope was a bit too long, and the bear trap was sort of swinging below me, and it banged on Scott's window."

Jeff felt his face drain of color. The idea of his six-year-old son dangling 30 feet above the ground from a rickety rain gutter appalled him. Gordon, caught up in the memory, didn't notice. "Scott stuck his head out of the window, and found me, and made me climb down to his window. He gave me holy hell." Gordon smiled. "I figured I would just wait until he wasn't home before trying again, but he took my bear trap. Never did find it…. So, anyway, I had to dig in the camellias. It was all Scott's fault."

It was Jeff and Ruth's turn to share a moment of stunned silence. Ruth slowly shook her head. "There are some things a child should never divulge to a parent, baby, and that was one of them."

Gordon just grinned. "I've got a million of them. Wanna hear about when Johnny jumped off the roof of the Milstein's chicken coop into the hog pond?"

"NO!" Jeff and Ruth cried in unified horror.

"Aw, come on, you two, lighten up. We all made it through to adulthood. How bad can it be?"

Jeff shook his head. "Never mind, son. Mom, I brought along the plans for improvement. Do you want to go over them at all?"

"No, son, I don't need the specifics. As long as you understand the principle, I'm satisfied. You do understand the principle, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother." Jeff responded wryly. "It really was a 'can't see the forest for the trees' situation. I never intended to work the boys to an early grave, you know."

"Yes, I know, dear."

"So, can we all just go home now? The boys have been missing their grandma, you know."

"And me. They've been missing me, too." Gordon said with absolute confidence.

"Well, we're not going anywhere until we have the lunch I've got planned. Gordon, you can go pack. Jeff, if you'll set the table please." Ruth wiped her hands on a towel, and took the colander full of peas to the sink. Jeff and Gordon got up to obey her orders, Jeff heading for the cupboard, and Gordon out the door.

As soon as the young man was gone, Jeff paused. "How is he really, Mom? He looks thin."

Ruth deftly shifted the peas to a pot and put them on the stove. "I suppose Alan told you that he couldn't make it up the stairs on his own when we got here?"

"Yes."

"Well, he stayed in bed on his own for the better part of two weeks, then I kept him down another week. I had to fight him to take that pain medication, but then you know he's as stubborn as the rest of them."

Jeff frowned. "He's only been on his feet for a week?"

"Thereabouts. I know you need him back on the island, but I'll want your promise that you won't push him too hard. Or let him push himself."

"Mom, you know I don't want anything to happen to him. I promise, he'll just do the easy stuff for now."

"Good. I won't be going back with you today."

Jeff felt his heart sink. With trepidation, he asked, "Why not?"

"I've got a bridge party here on Thursday, and I promised to go to a Ruth Circle function at the church on Saturday. I don't like to break my promises."

"Oh. Okay. Well, how about I send Tin-Tin up next week sometime? You girls can stop in San Francisco and get some shopping done."

"I'd like that. Thank you, dear."

Finishing up with setting the table, Jeff leaned on the counter. "You know, the boys thought it was a bad idea for me to come here today. They said that you and I fight like pitbulls."

Ruth smiled. "Well that's not so far from the truth, is it?"

"No." Jeff grinned ruefully. "In fact, I got an entire list of instructions from Scott on what to say and what not to say."

Ruth looked over at her son. "Did it include things like, 'Gordon and John are not pawns, so don't act as if they are'?"

Jeff stared. "Actually, it included exactly that. How did you know?"

"I got the same lecture from Gordon."

"Okay, I've loaded my gear into the car. Is it time to eat?" Gordon asked as he came in the door. He paused at the two stares he got. "What? What's wrong?"

"Your grandmother and I were just comparing notes." Jeff stated coolly. "It seems we were both given the same list of instructions."

"You boys have been manipulating us." Ruth accused.

Gordon barked a laugh at the tone of hurt indignation coming from his father and grandma. "And you two haven't? Gordon to queen's bishop four? John to block?"

A slow smile spread on Jeff's face. "Okay, you have us there. But don't think you can get away with things. We still know all and see all."

Ruth nodded agreement a smile on her face. Gordon's eyes alit with mischief. "Did I ever tell you about the time that Alan decided to jump up on the corn conveyor and almost fell into the shucker?"

Jeff groaned his defeat. Ruth pursed her lips, "You just sit down here and eat. And I'll thank you to keep your stories to yourself."

The three settled down to a lunch of pork chops, mashed potatoes and peas. After a few moments of quiet, Ruth reached over and caressed her grandson's hair, letting him know of her love and forgiveness. Gordon who never doubted it, simply smiled and continued to eat.

As they were finishing up, Gordon asked, "Grandma, do you want me to help you pack?"

"Lord, no, baby. Not the way you just throw things in a bag. I can do my own packing, thank you. But I'm not leaving with you and your father."

Gordon's face fell. "But I thought everything was okay now."

"And so it is. But if you'll remember, I'm having the girls in for bridge on Thursday, and you know your Aunt Tina has been planning that installation at the church for weeks. I'm afraid I'll be staying until next week."

"Okay, I guess I can stay one more week."

"No, sweetheart, you go on home with your father today. He's promised to send Tin-Tin up next week, so we can get in a bit of shopping. The last thing we need is a man moping around while we pick out our delicates."

Jeff hid his grin. Whenever his mother had wanted to shop alone, she had threatened to shop for ladies underwear. His sons were all of an accord with him that such an ordeal was a fate worse than death. To his credit, Gordon didn't immediately head for the hills. "Well, if you're sure, Grandma…"

"I'm sure. Now, I'm wondering if it might not be a good idea for you to lie down for a bit before you leave. You look pale."

"No, ma'am, I'm fine. I can sleep on the flight for a bit if I have to."

Jeff scrutinized his son's face. It was true, he did look pale, but the eyes were bright and alert, and Jeff agreed that sleeping on the staid but comfortable Lear jet was very possible. Still, he had himself flown for ten hours straight, and could do with some rest. Nodding, he made his decision. "Actually, a nap is probably a good idea for me too. It's a long flight, and I'm not as young as I used to be."

Gordon looked at his father, perplexed. "Well, then, I'll fly and you nap. I'm fine, really."

"Oh, no. You are not fit to fly, and that's all there is to that." Ruth said firmly. "You might think you're ready to go beat the world, but I know better. I like this idea of you both taking a nap. I'll tell you what, you go lie down, and I'll bake a tray of brownies for the flight back. How's that?"

Jeff could see the denial in his son's eyes. Before the younger man could say anything, Jeff threw his arm across Gordon's shoulders, and with forced heartiness, said, "That will just hit the spot, Mom. Come on, son, the sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we can be gone."

After a moment's resistance, Gordon gave in, and with a sigh followed his father out, muttering. "Why don't you guys ever listen to me?"

Jeff ignored the truculence and led the way up the stairs. Pausing by Gordon's bedroom door, he said, "Listen, you just do as your grandmother says, and we'll be on our way soon enough. Just sleep yourself out, son."

Gordon rolled his eyes, but responded mildly, "Yes, sir."

With a fond smile, Jeff moved on to his own bedroom. To his mild surprise, he found his bed neatly made. He had expected to have to pull off dust covers and make the bed himself, but as usual, his mother was one step ahead of him. Loosening his belt and kicking off his shoes, he laid down with a sigh, and within minutes was asleep.


	4. The Getaway

Jeff awoke to the westering sunlight in his eyes. He squinted in the warm afternoon light and checked his chronometer. It was still set at Tracy Island time and he had to think for a moment to translate. When he realized he had slept for over four hours, he sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes.

He listened for any sounds in the household, but all was quiet. Getting up, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the door. As soon as he opened it, he could smell the rich scent of his mother's brownies. With a smile, he headed quietly past his son's closed door and down the stairs, skipping the squeaky fifth step almost without even thinking about it.

He found Ruth in the front parlor, working on some stitchery. Keeping his voice quiet, Jeff greeted her. "Mom? Is Gordon still asleep?"

Looking up with a smile, Ruth gestured to the easy chair across from her. "As far as I know. Did you sleep well, dear?"

"Yeah. Didn't expect to sleep so long, though."

"Well, you must have needed it." Ruth set aside her needlework. "Now, are you going to be able to have those robots of Brains' up and running quickly enough to let John stay on Thunderbird Five?"

Jeff shook his head ruefully. "I don't know, Mom. I suppose I half expected to come up here and get Gordon and put him straight to work. I just assumed he was in better shape than he is."

"I'm glad you recognize that he's not, dear. That young man won't let on, but he is far from well. I suspect it will be a good two months more before he is back in top shape."

Jeff ran his hand through his hair. "And that's about how long it will be before the first of the new robots will be online." He shook his head. "You know, John offered to cancel his observations. Told Gordon there were plenty more magnetars where this one came from."

"Oh, honey," Ruth said sadly.

"I know. Well, if we do bring him down, it won't be until we've exhausted every other possibility. When Gordon told us yesterday what was on your mind, I told the boys I needed suggestions, and look at what they came up with. It was amazing to listen and watch them." Jeff shook his head fondly at the memory.

"Well, I don't know that you should be as amazed as all of that. Not one of those boys is a dummy, and they've pulled together as a team all of their lives." Ruth replied acerbically.

"I know." Jeff looked up at a sound. "Well, look who's up."

Gordon padded into the room, hair awry. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long, Dad."

"I've only been up a few minutes myself, son."

Ruth stood up. "Well, let me just get you those brownies and a thermos, and you can be on your way."

"No hurry, Mom. I want to take a shower before we hit the road."

Still half asleep, Gordon nodded. "Yeah, me too."

"All right then, you two go have your showers, and I'll get those brownies wrapped."

Jeff followed his son back up the stairs. He had long ago added a heavy-duty industrial-sized water heater to the home, so there was no need for either of them to wait. Jeff wasted no time in stripping down and standing under the streaming hot water. It felt good, and the cobwebs remaining from the midday nap evaporated.

Ten minutes later, he was dried, shaved and dressed. He headed out the door, and found Gordon just leaving his room. "How do you feel, son?"

Gordon looked up with a crooked grin. "Pretty good. Needed that shower."

"Know what you mean."

The two men trotted down the stairs and found the front door open. Jeff went out on the porch to find his mother carrying a large picnic basket down the steps. "Here, Mom, let me get that for you."

"Thank you, dear."

Hefting the basket, Jeff remarked in consternation, "What have you got in here? It weighs a ton."

"Gordon, be a dear, and go into the kitchen and fetch the thermos on the counter," Ruth instructed, then turned to her son. "You certainly didn't expect me to send you back empty-handed, now, did you? Your brownies are on the top, oh, and a couple of ham sandwiches too. On the bottom, I've put a freeze-all with a couple of apple pies. Kyrano will know how to bake them. The rest is just some pickles and jams. I put up a lot of corn relish this last month, and we had a canning bee and trade off last week at the church. Now, be careful, there's glass in there."

Jeff licked his lips. "Corn relish? Did you put any of that in here?"

Ruth pursed her lips. "Yes I did, and before you get any ideas, I've already emailed Kyrano with the exact contents of this hamper."

Gordon had come out on the porch and heard this last. Signaling his father where his grandmother couldn't see, he mouthed, "Spoons?"

Under the guise of smiling at his mother, Jeff nodded an emphatic yes, and the young man disappeared back into the house. Jeff slid the hamper onto the back seat just as Ruth turned back to the house. "Now where is that boy?"

As if summoned by the question, Gordon reappeared, carrying the thermos. Jeff smiled, seeing that he had hidden the spoons he carried well, and Ruth was none the wiser. As he came up, Gordon bent over to hug his grandmother. "Bye, Grandma. Thanks for taking care of me."

Ruth stood on tiptoe to kiss her grandson's cheek. "You be safe now. I don't want to come down there next week and find you've pushed yourself too hard."

"I won't, Grandma. I promise."

With one final caress, Ruth turned to her son. Arms lifted in invitation of a hug, she said, "Tell Tin-Tin to come on Monday, if she can. I've been away from my boys for far too long."

Jeff held his mother in a strong hug, kissing her cheek. "Okay, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

The two men got into the car and drove off. Jeff saw that his mother stood and watched until they rounded a bend and were out of sight. Gordon sat watching the fields go by, and Jeff said, "We'll be home by lunchtime."

Gordon breathed deeply, and asked, "We going to wait?"

"Hell, no. As soon as we're airborne we'll break out the corn relish."

"What about that email?"

"Son, where corn relish is concerned, it's every man for himself."

Gordon laughed, and in no time they had reached the airstrip. As the car pulled into the hangar, Gordon asked, "You want me to start the fueling robot?"

"Not necessary. I've got her fueled and ready to go." At Gordon's raised eyebrow, Jeff continued. "Thought I might need to make a quick getaway."

"Yeah, I kinda thought that too," Gordon nodded. "I was expecting all out war when you came. Kind of a let down, actually."

"Yes, I was ready to bring out all of the big guns," Jeff responded ruefully. "I think she does things like this just to make me crazy."

"It works real well."

Jeff chuckled. "It surely does, son, it surely does."

The two men completed their loading of the small jet and boarded the plane. As he was buckling in, Jeff asked, "You have got your sunglasses? We'll be heading straight into the sun."

"Yeah. You want me to fly her for a while? Four hours isn't much rest after a ten hour flight."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine. Maybe later." Jeff said it casually, but the truth of the matter was he had no intention of turning the controls over to his son. It was not that he didn't trust the younger man, it was more that he simply preferred to keep control himself, and of course, he found flying more relaxing than tiring.

Jeff taxied to the end of the airstrip, and pointing the little jet's nose to the west, powered up and sent her into the air. As soon as he had filed his flight plan with Rocky Mountain Flight Control, he turned to his son. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. What do you say we break out the corn relish?"

Gordon grinned and pulled two tablespoons out of his back pocket. "Works for me!"

Starting to reach behind the seat, Gordon hissed briefly in pain, then tried to cover it with a grunt. Jeff felt his heart sink at the sound, but kept his eyes forward, not letting on. After a moment, Gordon moved again, this time more gingerly. He pulled up the picnic basket lid, and froze. "Ah, rats."

"What's wrong?"

"She left a note."

Jeff sighed. "Damn. Well, you may as well read it."

"It says, 'There is corn relish in the yellow container. Stay out of the jars. And I want my spoons back.'"

Jeff sighed, then chuckled. Gordon heaved his own sigh, shaking his head. "You know, I kind of miss the old days when I was young and stupid and thought I could outwit Grandma."

"Ah, those were the days." Jeff smiled. "Well, what are you waiting for? It's in the yellow container."

Gordon grinned. "Geez, she's got a bunch of stuff in here. Oh, she gave us some cucumber salad. I want that. Here, you can have the corn relish."

Setting the autopilot, Jeff took the container and spoon that Gordon handed him. The two men dug in, eating the homemade goodies with enthusiasm. When he had downed about half of the corn relish, Jeff looked over, eyeing the cucumber salad. Gordon glanced up and seeing his father's look, held out his container. The two men swapped and went back to eating.

When every last morsel was gone, Jeff sat back with a sigh. "Oh, I'm going to pay for this."

Gordon chuckled. "You? What about me? I'm stuck in this tiny little cabin too."

Jeff turned a gimlet eye on his son. "What are you insinuating, Gordon?"

Unrepentant, Gordon grinned. "Five bucks says I can belch louder than you can fart."

"I do not fart," Jeff replied loftily. "I relieve intestinal tension."

Gordon barked a laugh. "Good one, Dad."

Smiling, Jeff looked over at his son. Seeing the pale face, his smile faltered for a moment. Turning back to his controls, he tried for a casual tone. "Why don't you just kick back and take a nap, son? We've got a long way to go, and there's not much to see."

"Would you stop? I'm fine, Dad. I don't need another nap."

Jeff raised an eyebrow at the tone. "You're sure, there, boy? Not like you to snap at your old man."

Sighing, Gordon shook his head. "Okay, Dad, the truth is I feel like hell. But I am sick of being sick, you know? I want just to be treated normally. I want just to be me, and not some damn invalid that has to be treated like a porcelain flower. You and Grandma look at me like I'll keel over in a fair breeze."

"That's not true, son. I'm pretty sure it would take a strong breeze to knock you over."

"Gee, thanks."

"Think nothing of it. Gordon, we've got a lot on our plates when we get home, and I'm going to have to rely on you for some of it. I understand you're not up to rescues yet, but you're going to be busy enough to wish I was treating you like a piece of porcelain. You might as well rest up now, because, believe me, you're going to need it." Jeff kept a stern edge to his voice, knowing Gordon would realize his intent.

The younger man relaxed next to him, and Jeff knew he had been right. His son needed the rest, but hadn't wanted to appear weak in his father's eyes. Jeff's statements gave Gordon what he needed to permit himself to settle down and sleep. "Well, as long as you put it that way. You're sure you don't need me to keep you company?"

Jeff smiled. "I've got Don Henley to keep me company, son. You just settle back and sleep."

Jeff reached over and hit a button on the console and the opening riff of an Eagles song softly filled the cabin. Gordon wrinkled his nose at the old fashioned music, but leaned back and within a few minutes was fast asleep.


	5. Disaster

Several hours into the flight, Jeff was kicked back in his seat, his mind on the problem of keeping things going until Gordon was well. His son had been asleep for the entire trip. That, more than anything else, told Jeff just how ill the young man was. They had crossed the equator over an hour earlier, and still had four hours of flight to look forward too.

Jeff had seriously underestimated his own need for sleep, and after catching himself nodding off for the third time in the last hour, he was considering waking Gordon and asking him to take the controls for a bit.

Looking over, he couldn't help the swell of love that he felt watching the young man sleep. It was a reaction he was very familiar with. It happened at odd times with each of his sons. With Scott, it was whenever his eldest turned goofy with his brothers, not that it happened all that often. With Virgil, it was watching the faraway look he got whenever music took him away. With John, it was when he was concentrating on reading, tiny frown lines on his forehead. Alan could raise the feeling in him almost at will, with his wild passion. But with Gordon, it was always when he slept.

Jeff had long ago realized it was at these times that his sons most reflected their mother. He sighed, the old pain almost rising again. He reached out a hand and softly brushed the red golden hair off of his son's forehead.

Deciding he wouldn't wake Gordon just yet, he turned back to his controls just as an alarm sounded. The jet shuddered and the left wing dipped. Jeff grabbed the flight stick and felt his stomach flipflop. How had they dropped so low without him noticing?

The stick juddered in his hands, and the control boards were lighting up red with rapidly failing systems. The stick steadied, and Jeff risked a glance over to see Gordon lending his strength to hold the jet level.

With Gordon working to hold it together, Jeff could concentrate on damage control. He looked out the window at the left wing, and his heart climbed up into his throat. About a third of the wing had sheared off. Jeff frowned, thinking it had to have been one hell of a bird. The smear of blood and a few feathers fluttering madly in the aileron told the story. It frightened him to think that the jet had somehow dropped low enough for a bird strike without him ever noticing.

Turning to his instruments, it took only a moment for him to realize the plane was doomed. The red engine lights on the port engine told him there had been more than one bird. Had he been on his own, and closer to land, he might have been tempted to try to hold it together, but with his son onboard, and the nearest land over a thousand miles off, it wasn't even close. "Son, we're going to have to ditch."

"Yeah." The terse reply brought Jeff's head around. Gordon was straining to keep the jet on an even keel, sweat beading his upper lip.

Until that point, Jeff had not felt anything more than mild trepidation. But remembering how ill his son was, his heart started beating wildly. He swallowed his panic, and in a fair approximation of his normal command voice said, "Hold her steady long enough for me to get my parachute on, and I'll relieve you, all right?"

"Go."

Jeff needed no further urging. He spun out of his seat, and moved into the main cabin, grabbing his chute and buckling it on with practiced speed. He was back on the flight deck, sliding into his seat in less than two minutes. Looking out the front windshield, he was dismayed at how much they had dropped. "Hurry, son, and pull the survival raft to the door. Call me when you're ready."

"Yes, sir." Gordon released the stick to his father and disappeared to the rear. Jeff felt as if he had been handed a wildly bucking mustang, the control stick pulling him instead of the other way around. He spared a moment to marvel at his son's strength, but holding the jet together soon took all of his concentration.

He hit the face of his watch, and in terse tones, called out. "Thunderbird Five, this is Tracy One. John, get a lock on us, we're going down."

"Thunderbird Two is already in the air, Dad. Gordon called. I've got a lock on you, help will be there practically before you hit the water."

John's coolly professional tone helped calm Jeff's shuddering heart. "Good job, son. We'll be parachuting out in just a moment or two. Take care to track us, and not the plane."

"Understood, Dad. Good luck."

Jeff felt the controls buck again, and didn't answer. He felt the cabin pressure drop as Gordon opened the door. Seeing the ocean rushing up to greet him, Jeff didn't wait, but headed for the door. As he came into the rear cabin, he saw Gordon shove something out the door. The wind noise was too loud for conversation, so Jeff simply grabbed his son, and pushed him out, jumping out behind him.

The jet had a final trick up its sleeve. It rolled just as Jeff leapt out into space, and something clipped him hard as he fell. Only half conscious, it was instinct more than anything else that brought his hand up to pull the release on his parachute. The jerking stop as the chute caught air was enough to send him over into blackness.


	6. Rescue!

The shock of hitting the water brought Jeff back to consciousness. His parachute had already started to sink, and its weight pulled him under. Struggling for a moment, he released the latches on his chute and swam to the surface, taking in huge gasps of air.

Getting his breathing under control, he heard the distant crash of his jet into the water. He had a momentary regret at losing such a fine plane, but that regret was quickly overwhelmed by his fear for his son. He spun in the water, searching the swells for any sign of Gordon, but the only thing visible was the strobe light flashing to indicate the location of the survival raft.

With a burst of energy brought on by his desperation to find his son, Jeff swam to the raft, which had already deployed, and floated ready to take survivors. Grasping the side, Jeff pulled himself up, yelling, "Gordon!"

The only sound was the lapping of the water on side of the raft. Jeff struggled to pull himself on board, wanting the height to search the surrounding water. The pounding in his head translated itself into an annoying weakness in his arms, and after a moment, he realized he might not have the strength to pull himself up, despite his desperation.

He gave it one last try, and found himself being strongly pushed from below. Flopping into the raft, Jeff looked around to find Gordon pulling himself aboard in one smooth movement. The relief Jeff felt flowed through him like a tidal wave, and ignoring his pain, he grabbed his son in a fierce hug and sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.

Gordon allowed the hug for a moment, then in a puzzled tone, asked, "Uh, Dad? You okay?"

Squeezing his eyes to prevent the tears from falling, Jeff replied in a shaky voice. "I couldn't find you. I thought maybe…"

"What?" Gordon pulled away from his father, holding the older man at arms length. "You thought what? That a few bruised ribs would pull me under?"

Seeing the cocky grin warmed Jeff immeasurably. Rolling his eyes caused pain to shoot through his head, and he winced. "What was I thinking?"

Gordon was immediately attentive. "Hey, Dad, are you okay?"

Jeff raised his hand to the back of his head. He felt moisture there, but when he looked at his hand, there was no blood. "I got clocked coming out of the plane. Feels like a goose egg back there."

"Let me see…" Gordon sidled around to get a look, his fingers gently probing. "No break in the skin, and I can't feel anything moving." He moved around to face Jeff. "Follow my finger with your eyes."

Jeff allowed his son to complete the examination. "Well, Dr. Tracy, what's your prognosis?"

"Slight concussion. I recommend corn relish, and plenty of it." With that, the younger man started hauling on a rope that Jeff had not previously noticed.

Bemused, he watched as his son reached over the side of the raft. With both hands and a grunt, he pulled the basket Ruth had given them into the boat. Blinking, Jeff deadpanned, "You saved the corn relish."

"Well, actually, I'd put the spoons in the basket when we were done. I figured I could show up at the island without the plane, or you, but if I lost Grandma's spoons, I was done for."

Jeff chuckled. "You're probably right about that, but frankly, I'd be more concerned about showing up without those pies. I daresay Scott could smell them from the moment we crossed the equator."

Gordon, who had been pawing through the basket, exclaimed with delight, "Oooo! Aunt Tina's pickles! Cool!"

With a bemused frown, Jeff responded, "Son, your grandmother will probably forgive a jar of corn relish, but if you go opening everything, she will nail your hide to the barn door."

Gordon paused and looked over at his father, and shook his head sadly. "You've obviously been hurt worse than I thought. You're just not thinking straight."

"Excuse me?"

Gordon scooted close to his father, looked him in the eye, and with a gentle hand on his arm, said with total Gordon-esque sincerity, "Dad, we just had a devastatingly tragic and traumatic accident. We could have been pathetically maimed or even brutally killed. Grandma will be so glad we survived that she won't even notice that not all of the jars are full." The wide-eyed sincerity turned to a cheeky grin. "And if that doesn't do it, we can just say it didn't survive the fall from the plane."

Amazed that his son could actually believe that would work, Jeff shook his head, and tapped his watch. "Jeff Tracy to Thunderbird Five, come in John."

"Dad? Are you okay?" John was still cool as a cucumber.

"Yes, son, your brother and I are fine. When can we expect Virgil?"

The calm exterior dissolved into a look of unmitigated relief. John's voice held a slight quaver as he responded, "They're about five minutes from your location. Let me patch you through to Thunderbird Two."

"Dad?"

Jeff's eyebrow quirked up. He'd been expecting Virgil, but instead it was Scott's voice he heard. "Yes, son. Your brother and I are fine."

From the whoops in the background, Jeff could tell Virgil and Alan were both on board. Feeling warm paternal pride in his sons, he nonetheless felt obligated to remark, "Scott, this is a simple surface rescue, made even simpler by the presence of one of your team in the boat. You didn't really need to bring the entire family."

There was dead silence for a moment, then Scott said with absolute authority, "You're right, Dad. I didn't need to, but there is nothing on that island as important to me as you and Gordon. And I feel confident that Virgil and Alan feel the same way. I didn't need to, but there was no way in Hell that I was going to tell them to stay behind."

The affirmation in the background made it clear the boys were all in agreement. Gordon sat with a sweet smile, then suddenly twisted around and pointed to the horizon. Squinting, Jeff could just make out a black dot that swiftly expanded to become Thunderbird Two. "We have you in sight, Dad."

As Scott spoke, Thunderbird Two slowed from bat-out-of-Hell to floating cloud, directly over the raft. A hatch in the underbelly of the great ship opened up, and Jeff waved at the two heads that popped into view. The heads, one blond and one dark disappeared from view, and Jeff waited expectantly for the rescue platform to appear.

After a few moments he frowned. "What's taking so long?"

Gordon, who was stretched out, eating bread and butter pickles like popcorn, swallowed and replied, "The argument."

Jeff rolled his eyes, then once again winced. Under normal circumstances, Alan would operate the winch from aboard the platform itself. But the circumstances were not normal, and Scott, who would usually be in Thunderbird One, was no doubt asserting his top dog rights to operate the platform himself. The trouble was, Alan firmly believed that HE was the top dog.

Reaching over, he snagged a pickle. "This could take a while."

Gordon looked around. "The shade is nice."

"So… did you make it to any ball games while you were home?"

"Nope. Grandma had me on a short leash. How about you? Do anything interesting lately?"

"Went on to eBay the other day. Found a really nice jade Buddha. The pictures look good, and it has provenance, so I'm very hopeful. Should be delivered next week some time."

"That's nice. Did you hear that Buck Overholt got married?"

"Again? What's that make? Four?"

"Actually it's six now. Got this lady from over in Liberty to hook up with him."

"That's because every woman closer has his number."

"Oh, look, they're dropping the platform."

"Well, isn't that decent of them?"

"Five bucks says Al won."

"You're on."

Jeff leaned back munching on pickles and watched as the rescue platform dropped. If nothing else, he had to admire Virgil's steady hand with Thunderbird Two. It might as well be a building for all the movement it made. As the platform dropped lower, it became apparent that Scott had won the argument. Gordon made a slight sound of disgust.

Jeff watched his eldest, standing tall and confident at the controls of the platform. Jeff felt a sudden insight to how it must feel to be a victim of disaster, and to see salvation in the form of a self-assuredly calm man in a blue uniform. Although he had not been in any serious danger, just seeing the way his son handled himself reassured him that everything would go off without a hitch.

Scott brought the platform to a halt about six feet above the mean level of the water. Of course, with the constant movement of the ocean swells, the raft was lifting and dropping several feet every few minutes. Scott extended a beam from the top of the platform, and pressed a few buttons and a hoist dropped two lines into the boat, one ending in a rescue sling.

Gordon scrambled to attach the free line to the raft to insure it would not move away, and held the sling out to his father. "After you, Dad."

Feeling suddenly protective, Jeff replied, "No, son, you go first."

Gordon grinned, "Nope, fresh concussion trumps month-old ribs. You need help with the sling?"

Jeff considered making it an order, but with a wave of exhaustion overtaking him, he no longer had the energy. With a gesture, he got Gordon to help secure him in the sling, and within moments, he was airborne.

Scott's handling of the hoist was so smooth that the line never even twisted, and within moments, his eldest held out his hand to pull him aboard. "I've got you, Dad."

Getting his feet under him, Jeff stepped to the back of the platform. "Thank you, son. Get your brother and let's go home."

Scott nodded and turned back to his controls. With his son's concentration elsewhere, Jeff allowed himself to sag. The concussion was leaving him feeling weak and washed out, although, if he was honest with himself, relief at being rescued so quickly was probably part of it.

He was thinking the pickles had been a very bad idea, when the hoist sounds changed, indicating Gordon was on his way up. He closed his eyes as the world started to spin. Gordon's voice was painfully loud in the enclosed space as he came aboard. "Whoa! Scotty, what the hell happened to your face?"

Jeff held on to a rail with grim strength as he listened to the byplay. Scott sounded confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, sorry, man. It's been so long, I'd forgotten you really look like that."

"Shut up, Gor…"

"Dad! Oh, geez… Scott, he hit his head on…" Jeff didn't even try to open his eyes, he just let the darkness come.


	7. Understanding

The quiet was nice. And the low ambient light level was almost soothing. As he became somewhat foggily aware of his surroundings, Jeff took a sighing breath. The pain that had been twisting through his head was almost tolerable.

He had vague memories of being moved from Thunderbird Two to the infirmary, a confusing jumble of concerned faces and too loud voices. He'd wanted to grit it out, but the nauseating agony in his head had kept him from holding the thought long enough for it to matter, and eventually, he simply sank under the weight of his own misery.

It was almost a surprise to him that he could put the thoughts together. His head ached in a distant way, but nothing like it had before. He thought he'd try opening his eyes, but it was tough going. His eyelids seemed to have a mind of their own, staying stubbornly shut.

He made a soft grunt of frustration, and heard a rustling. Even with his eyes closed, he could immediately identify the familiar wisteria scent and soft, cool hand caressing his cheek. It wasn't so hard to open his eyes after all. "Mom?"

Ruth smiled gently at her son. "I'm here, baby. How do you feel?"

"Bit of a headache. Not too bad. How did you get here? How long have I been out?" Jeff tried to push himself up on his elbows, gritting his teeth as his headache flared.

Pitching her voice at a quiet level, Ruth laid her hand on his chest. "No, honey, you just lie back. You need your rest."

Giving in, Jeff rested his aching head on the pillow, but persisted. "Mom, I left you in Kansas. How did you get here?"

"Did you think I would stay at the farm partying knowing you were hurt? I came as soon as I heard." Eyeing her son's frown, she continued, shaking her head. "I had Scott come and get me. You've been sleeping for three days. And no, there haven't been any rescues or problems."

"Gordon?"

"He's fine. I'm keeping an eye on him. Right now, I'm far more worried about you."

"I feel fine, Mom." Jeff didn't quite look his mother in the eye. To distract her, he said, "Actually, I'm kind of hungry."

Ruth reached over, and gently, held Jeff's chin, forcing him to look at her. "I'll go fix you something, but you are not to get out of this bed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother."

Pursing her lips at the exasperated tone, Ruth caressed her son once more, then got up from her perch at his bedside and left the room. Jeff plucked at the bedspread for a moment, looking around the small infirmary. He had no intention of staying in bed when there was work to be done, but for the moment, he felt listless and weak.

Closing his eyes, he drifted until the door opened and a soft clatter announced the arrival of his lunch. He opened his eyes to find Gordon carefully setting down a tray on the bedside table. Seeing his father's eyes on him, he grinned. "Hey, welcome back, Dad."

Jeff was pleased to see the color in his son's cheeks, as well as the sparkle in his eyes. "You look like you're feeling okay."

"I feel great. You know, Dad, the main problem with being cooped up in Kansas is the tremendous lack of ocean. I just breathe better out here, you know?"

Jeff smiled. Gordon had always been a water baby. "I know. What have you got there?"

"Beef barley." Gordon lifted a cover from a bowl of soup and pulled the hospital table around so that Jeff could get to it easily.

Before Jeff could voice his desire for a more hearty meal, the scent of the soup hit his nose, and his mouth watered. When his son made a move as if to feed him, Jeff snatched the spoon from his hand and dug in. The soup was thick and delicious. "Mmmmm, that's good."

"Should be. It's the first thing you've eaten since you scarfed down two jars of pickles on the life raft."

The spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Two jars of pickles. Don't worry about it. It's very common to lose some memories after a concussion."

"Nice try, son, but my memory is fine. I did not eat those pickles."

Gordon sighed. "It was worth a shot. Did you know she actually did email Kyrano with that list?"

Jeff chuckled, then winced as a sparkle of pain flashed at the back of his head. "Kyrano told her? That doesn't sound like him."

"No, Kyrano's the best. But Johnny got wind of the list, and now he has me."

"Well, it's not as if I didn't warn you, son."

"True. You done with that?"

Jeff looked down and was mildly surprised to find he'd finished the soup. "Yes, I guess I am."

"Okay, well, why don't you lie back down and take a nap?"

Jeff snorted. "Why don't you go get me Scott and Brains? I need to get up to date on things."

"Okay, now I know you've lost either your memory or your marbles. Or maybe both."

Jeff raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"Dad, you start trying to work and you're gonna end up in Kansas staring at a wall. Take it from me, it's not as much fun as you might think."

"Gordon, I'm not going to stay in this bed for the rest of my life. Now go get your brother. Please."

It wasn't a request despite the wording, and after a moment, Gordon shrugged and left the room. Realizing he needed the bathroom, Jeff attempted to sit up and swing his legs out of the bed. Although he completed the movement, he had to hold hard to the bed, waiting for the dizziness and sudden pain to pass.

"Dad! What are you doing?" Scott came in and moved swiftly to his father's side.

Jeff got his breathing under control, and grasped his son's strong hand. "I've got to get to the bathroom."

"Oh, well, give me a moment, I'll get the wheelchair."

"What? No. I don't need a wheelchair. Just lend me a hand, here."

With Scott's help, he made it to the bathroom and back. By the time he was back to the bed, his legs were shaking with fatigue, and he was grateful for the chance to lie back down. Scott fussed with the blankets, tucking him in, and Jeff frowned. "Leave that, son. I want a report on what is happening."

Scott stared at his father, a cool assessing look on his face. "Yes, so Gordon told me."

When he said nothing more, Jeff felt a prickle of ire. "Well?"

"Grandma said she thought you'd figured it out."

The headache that had been threatening like a cloud on the horizon started to overtake him and he had no patience to puzzle out Scott's cryptic words. Biting off the words in a last ditch effort to hang on to his temper, Jeff said, "Scott, if you have something to say, say it."

With maddening calm, his eldest son nodded. "All right. Father, we've been killing ourselves. None of us could see past the vision. All we saw was people needed help and we could provide that help. What we lost sight of was that if we don't take care of ourselves and each other, we can't help anyone else."

Scott shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. You'd think it would have been obvious, but I missed it somehow. We all did. Even when we were planning all these changes to lighten the workload, it just didn't penetrate."

Jeff frowned, wondering what could have brought on this tone of confession from his son. "Son, I'm fine."

Scott glanced up, startled. He shook his head. "We got you home, and Brains checked you out, said it was just a mild concussion. Miserable, but not really dangerous, as long as we took care."

Jeff brought a hand up to rub his forehead. "I'll agree with the miserable part."

Scott smiled ruefully, having had his own experiences with concussions. "Anyway, like I was saying, I knew you were going to be okay, so I went back to work on Thunderbird One. Virgil and Alan were doing some repairs on Pod Three. Brains was working away on his designs. Kyrano and TinTin were with you. I don't know, I just didn't even think about Gordon. I guess I just assumed he would be on the beach or in his room." Scott shrugged. "I found him in Thunderbird Two, working on a faulty relay in the impeller couplings. He was dead white, sweating, and damn, without a tee shirt on, he looked like a scarecrow he was so scrawny. I asked him what he was doing and he looked at me liked he just didn't get it."

Jeff frowned. "He promised his grandmother he'd take it easy. Hell, I promised her he'd take it easy."

"See, but that's just the point, Dad. As far as he was concerned, he WAS taking it easy. I just stared at him, and it all fell into place. We really are killing ourselves. It's a mindset we all have." Scott looked his father in the eye. "I'm changing that mindset, Dad. As of now, we are no longer going to work to the exclusion of our health and well being."

Jeff shook his head. "And what if people die while we're sitting around with our thumbs up our asses?"

"You really think I'm talking about lying around in the sun all day? We both know that would never happen. We'll continue to work hard, Dad. We'll just do a better job of it, and we'll take care of each other in the process."

"All right, son, I have to agree with you on that. Did you convince your brother?"

"I think so. Alan was a big help. He gets it. Virgil is a tougher nut to crack, though. I'm still working on him."

"He'll follow your lead."

"Yeah, he will. I think once we have everything in place, he'll come around."

"What about John?"

Scott grinned. "He doesn't quite get it, but we have an advantage there. He's stuck on Thunderbird Five until we go get him."

"Well then it sounds as if you have it under control."

"Not quite. There's still the main stumbling block."

Jeff frowned. "What's that, son?"

"It could bring the whole thing down around our ears, put us all in an early grave."

"We won't let it." Jeff said firmly.

"I don't know, Dad, it could be insurmountable…"

"Son, in the past two years you boys have shown me that nothing is insurmountable. Now, what is this stumbling block?"

With a sly grin, Scott replied, "You."

"Me?" Jeff exclaimed indignantly. "Son, you know I have you and your brothers' best interests at heart. Trust me, I get it. We are going forward with every innovation Brains can manage. Don't you worry about that."

"Good. Then you won't mind taking a nap."

Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't immediately think of anything to say. Scott had trapped him. Seeing the expectation in his son's eyes, he couldn't help saying mulishly, "Working on a report is hardly taxing, Scott."

"Yeah, that was pretty much what Gordon said, and he landed up in Kansas for a month. Dad, it's all or nothing. Are you committed to making our lives better or not?"

Put that way, Jeff had to agree, albeit reluctantly, "Yes, Scott, I am. Oh, all right, I will rest. But I expect to be plied with all the corn relish I can eat."

Scott laughed, relieved. "That, I can handle. I brought back a couple of cases when I picked up Grandma. Oh, but you better not ask for any of Aunt Tina's pickles. Grandma was not thrilled when she found out you ate two jars of them."

"Do you mean to tell me she fell for that? And coming from Gordon?"

"Uh, well, he had a little help."

Jeff frowned at Scott's apparent embarrassment. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't know about the scam, Dad, I'm sorry. Grandma came and asked me if you'd vomited up some pickles on Thunderbird Two, and it never occurred to me to lie. Seems Gordon told her you ate the pickles and puked them up, and that Alan and I had seen you do it."

"Do me a favor, son."

"Sure, Dad, anything."

"On that raft, your brother ate most of one jar of pickles. I had maybe three of them. If he's told her I ate two jars, then he's squirreled that second jar away somewhere. Find it for me, would you?"

A evil smile came over Scott's face. "You've got it, Dad."

Returning the smile with a wicked grin of his own, Jeff wiggled himself down in the bed. "Thank you, son. I think I'll just have that nap now."

"Okay, Dad." Scott headed for the door. Opening it, he paused, looking back, "It's good to have you and Gordon home."

Jeff smiled as his son left the room. Putting his hands behind his head, he gave a thought to what Scott had said. Slowing down would be hard, but he realized the alternative was eventual failure. Sighing he rolled over. Maybe he could get a report on it later.

The End.


End file.
